


Syn

by Coquette



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek is a Failwolf, Familiars, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Polish Mythology, Stiles Stilinski is Bait, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, and a whole lot of brooding angst, and magic, and so jealous, because why else does everything want him, everybody else can totally see that they are meant to be, should be his job description imo, something wants stiles again, there are cupcakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coquette/pseuds/Coquette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has known his spark since he was a child. When a new wild ferocious magic comes to town will it overtake him, his own magic irresistibly drawn to it or will he resist the allure all for the sake of a lonesome blue-eyed werewolf whose existence he's known for longer than he's been in the outside world?</p><p>AKA Derek can't talk about feelings but it's okay because Stiles has enough words for the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Syn

 

 

When Stiles was still a child, full of wonder and many possibilities, his mother takes him to the backyard and makes him sit and watch while she digs a hole. As her fingers move over the earth, she speaks to him of things that were told her by her mother, and to her mother by her father. Secret things, maybe terrible or heretical in a time long gone but still alive in the present.  
  
Stiles is too young to understand most of it, but the words held power over him and to this day the memory alone fuels some of his most incredible magic.  
  
He remembers faintly the hypnotic tones of his mother's soft voice telling him to trust in the earth and things would take care of themselves.  
  
"Remember _dziecko_ , that we alone still follow the old ways. Before _Mokosh,_ there was _Matka_. Believe in the earth for her energy runs through everything, and through the plants and animals and through you yourself. Bind yourself to _Mat Zemlya_ , recognize the bond and she will never leave your side even at the darkest of hours."  
  
His mother took his hands, chubby and plump, gently in hers and placed it on the upturned earth. "Go on," she encouraged him, smiling at his confused stare. "Feel her."  
  
With his mothers hands pressing his deep into the earth, Stiles had made a connection, a connection so deep and enduring that not even age had taken away the first knowledge of _her_ from him or dimmed the path of memory.  
  
"She is ours, _dziecko_ ," his mother once told him. "And we must give of ourselves fully to her."  
  
Stiles was still only a child for much longer, but now with only one possibility ahead of him, one destiny to fill. To belong as solely as _she_ belonged to him after that afternoon spent with his mother in the balmy heat of summer nurturing the seedling of his spark.  
  
Sometimes he wishes he had been given a choice, before his mother had tied him so unshakably to the earth.  
  
Sometimes he is beyond grateful that the bond has settled deep in his soul anchoring him to a person long gone.  
  
......................................  
  
It all started on a Tuesday, which is funny, because - Tuesday.  
  
Stiles is alseep in the shadow of the great _Leszchaka_ when he feels a light tickle on his chest. He opens his eyes as her leaves retract from his shoulder and sees the silent visage of a _Leszny_ looming over him. He sits and props his head in his arms. "I'm listening," he says on the trail end of a yawn, squinting against the afternoon light filtering in through the canopy. The woods are always silent here in the glade where the father spirit and his wife reside.  
  
The Tree-man stares at Stiles from coal black eyes, his gnarled wooden features heavily distorted into an unreadable expression. He sways on the spot for a moment before nodding to himself and reaching up to pluck a nut from the bird nesting in the tangles of his wild leafy hair. He offers this to Stiles who accepts it with a grin and pockets it.  
  
"Thanks, old man," he says cheerfully. "Didn't see the time go by, myself. S'pose you can't lend me a hand finding my way out then?"  
  
The _Leszny_ , whose name funnily enough, is Leszny nods before lumbering a few feet away and peering at Stiles over his shoulder. In the next second, a brown hare is perching where the forest-spirit had once stood. It sits up, nose twitching wildly before darting off in one direction. It's different from the path he'd used to leave the last time he'd visited, and that had been different from the time before that.  
  
Stiles staggers up, brushing dust off the seat of his pants. The _Leszchaka_ trails a leafy branch over his shoulder, bidding him a fond farewall and to come back soon.  
  
She seems to insist that the animals will miss him. Stiles who had tread on more than one set of annoyed paws during his clumsy adolescence isn't so sure.  
  
"Yeah, just waiting for me to be gone so they can eat your leaves again," he mutters beneath his breath. There's a feminine giggle then, and he feels the pitter-patter of tiny feet up his crossed arms. A tiny green leafling launches itself up his shirt and tucks away beneath his collar. It sends Stiles an image of a deer nosing at its brother leaflet and then snuffling away, making itself comfortable in the cloth as it conveys to him that the way of the world is set and cyclic. Apparently, there will be more leaves eaten.  
  
"Yeah, and everybody knows there are talking plants," Stiles rebuts huffily. He picks his way among the long grasses following the hare's trail. The undergrowth is more dense here and it would be extremely easy to get lost. However he does have some tricks up his sleeve and well, a _Leszny_ is the best guide around, isn't he?  
  
For a god that likes to tickle people to death, that is.  
  
Following the little markers the hare had set for him as little bursts of magic concentrated in certain spots, he soon emerges from the forest.  
  
Leszny is waiting for him, swiping a paw over a twitching furry nose. Fathomless dark eyes gaze for a moment on Stiles before the hare bounds away.  
  
"Thanks," Stiles calls after the retreating hare, waving a hand. "I'll be back in a week! No need for goodbyes or anything."  
  
He mumbles to himself as he trudges the rest of the way to a proper road. Here  the ground is still a little uneven and plants spring up every other step and he has to be careful he doesn't trip and fall over his clumsy self.  
  
"Who were you talking to?"  
  
Stiles jumps about a foot in the air and lets loose a really manly shriek.  
  
Derek is clearly unamused as he stands there, arms crossed, regarding Stiles with his usual frowny expression.  
  
Stiles claps a hand to his chest. "And hello to you too," he says crossly.  
  
Because God. He hadn't even heard Derek. His heart was still kicking it's way up his throat. A minute earlier and he would have seen Stiles-  
  
Seen him what? Talk to a rabbit. Hah. That was- well, Derek might just have believed that actually.

The once-a-local werewolf had made it a point to hound Stiles when he got back from where ever he'd hauled off to all those years ago. Aside from the fact that the local area was basically under Stiles' protection, or rather, it protected him, there was the fact to consider that Derek's family had once been the protectors of Beacon Hills.

And so the werewolf and the spark had hashed out an uneasy truce which sometimes became an alliance in the face of the very many things that wanted a bite out of Derek or his betas or Stiles or them all. It wasn't easy, but it was the best of a bad situation.  
  
Stiles turns and stomps away. "Stupid werewolves," he mutters.  
  
Derek materializes in front  of him. There's a tick at his brow and Stiles realizes with a sudden jolt that Derek is upset. Something has him tense. Something clearly has Derek annoyed, something which has somehow managed to break his composure and get to him.  
  
This would make Stiles extremely happy except when something gets to Derek, it usually also gets to the rest of them also. Painfully. In terrible ways. With teeth.  
  
"Stiles," Derek grinds out when it becomes clear that Stile is not interested in making further conversation and is intent on waiting Derek out.  
  
Stiles grins smugly. What? A win is a win. "What?"  
  
Derek's eyes flash. "Who were you talking to?" he grits out, claws flexing.  
  
"Myself," he shoots back. "What? A guy can't reassure himself that _creepy things won't jump out of the woods and scare the shit outta him?_ "  
  
He crosses his arms and glares. _Yes, Sourwolf Mcwolverson, I. mean. you._  
  
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and looks all for the world like he's being sorely put upon. "Sti-" he starts, then shakes his head and tries again. "Did you," he demands, nostrils flaring, teeth grinding audibly, "hear anything?"  
  
Stiles frowns. "No," he says.  
  
"Nothing?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Sti-"  
  
"No."  
  
"Dammit Stiles!" Derek roars. "There's _something_ in the fucking woods!"  
  
_And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Derek needs to learn people-words and people-manners._  
  
All the blood leaves his face, and Stiles goes deathly still. "Something in the woods," he repeats, looking down at his tattered sneakers.  It can't be. He would have known; Leszny would have told him.  
  
Derek paces in front of him. "I felt it," he says, a little distantly. "It was- Ever since a week ago there have been traces of some-- something, something magic in there and I can only get little hints of it, Stiles, I can't find it and-" he looks up, and there's a hard set to his jaw, "I don't know what it wants and it was following you."  
  
"Following me," Stiles repeats. Could it have been the spirits of the woods then? No. They never hid from him. And spirits could be differentiated. There were bad ones and good ones. Derek wouldn't have bothered if it were good.  
  
"What did you do, Stiles?" Derek asks him, eyes flaring.  
  
Stiles draws himself up. "Nothing," he bites coldly. "I've done nothing at all. Because it was you who a put curfew on me, werewolf, and if you'd take the time to remember I've been under house arrest since I took the fall for your suspicious ass. Now, I'm going and you can't stop me." _You can just try, is left implied. A werewolf against a spark, what are the odds?_  
  
"You were in the woods," Derek says stubbornly.  
  
Stiles laughs a little. "Yeah." He says, smiling in derisive amusement. "I was. So? My dad knows better than to stop me."  
  
He snorts, shoves his hands in his pockets and shoulders past. Derek lets him.  
  
"These woods are my second home," he mutters under his breath, soft enough that Derek would have trouble hearing him.  
  
The growl that arises behind him shows Derek did indeed hear. There's the sound of angry stalking and then bushes rustling.  
  
"Something magic, huh?" Stiles says, once he's sure Derek is gone. "I'll find out."  
  
His eyes flash gold.  


**Author's Note:**

> Something I want to pursue. Worth it? Leave an opinion.


End file.
